


Haptic Feedback

by WhoopsOK



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, First Time, Fondling, Ken Doll Android Anatomy | Androids Have No Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Massage, Sleepy Sex, Unusual Methods of Getting Off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: Connor doesn’t move away from him. “I don’t have genital components,” he warns.Hank glances at his crotch, nods agreeably. “Okay,” he says, pulling until Connor is basically straddling his lap. The weight doesn’t seem to bother him much and Connor happily submits to Hank’s hands on his waist. “So what am I working with?”“My mouth or the panel on my stomach,” he says, because apparently a fundamental facet of humanity is figuring out how to get yourself off. It had been a surprising day to say the least, but hey, it hadn’t left him prone to hedonism, so he can’t feel too bad about it.(Connor gives Hank a rather thorough massage. Hank returns the favor.)
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 16
Kudos: 278





	Haptic Feedback

**Author's Note:**

> Connor gets his bellybutton fingered because that’s just the kind of day I’m having.
> 
> Listen, I have two BAs and no clue how science/technology really works; suspend your disbelief, doll.
> 
> Belated Kinktober Day 29: Sleepy Sex, Massage

Hank is still favoring his left side by the time they get back to his house, but Connor neglects to mention it as he was already cleared by a medical droid. He’s got a sprained muscle and some bruising, but nothing critical. Commenting would just annoy him and while Connor has come to find some humor in his annoyance, he won’t pick on him while he’s already sore.

“I’m getting too fucking old for this shit,” Hank complains, wincing as he slides out of his jacket.

“I did advise against running in,” Connor says, stumbling as Sumo jumps against his back while he’s stepping out of his shoes. He turns to pet him, smiling blandly at the sour look Hang gives him.

“Yeah, thanks a lot, captain fantastic,” Hank says, heading for the kitchen. “You wanna be more helpful?”

Connor stands to join him. “I can get you a heating pad while you shower,” he says, allowing Hank one shot of whiskey before he takes the bottle away.

It’s not a compromise that would’ve worked out previously, something that Connor takes pleasure in analyzing privately. For now, he just lets Hank pat his shoulder, grumbling agreeably enough as he passes him for the bathroom.

Living in a house is not something Connor had ever thought about before, much less having a roommate, but he’s found he does rather like it. Hank says that’s not saying much when the alternative is a charging cell in CyberLife HQ. Though, Connor thinks as he watches Hank lay on the heating pad, half asleep, that the company is a much bigger part of the appeal than the décor.

“You know that’s creepy, right?” Hank says without opening his eyes.

Connor blinks from his spot on the bed beside Hank. “You were sleeping,” he says, not at all defensively. “I wanted to monitor the heating pad and—”

“ _Creepy,_ ” Hank insists, face flush and puffy with sleep. He winces a little as he stretches, rolls onto his stomach to put his face into the pillow with a grunt. “You nag me, make me eat gross food, and watch me sleep. You’re gonna start wearing my skin next.”

“That is quite unsanitary. It also would not fit.”

“Oh, harhar, wiseass.”

The banter is new and Connor has come to the understanding than annoyance is never a pure emotion with Hank, always tinged with something else. When Connor is gently rude to Hank, his heartrate tends to increase and he tends to shout. In these instances, neither of those factors indicate distress and, more often than not, actually indicate pleasure. Connor finds he rather enjoys Hank’s pleasure.

Of course, he also enjoys tossing the occasional wrench in Hank’s train of thought.

The next time Hank starts to doze off, murmuring something about making himself useful, Connor offers helpfully, “Would you like a massage, Hank?”

Hank turns to squint at him. “You know how to give massages?”

“I can know just about anything I’d like,” Connor reminds him. “But in this instance, I believe my understanding of physiology would be sufficient for a massage.”

“That was a long ass way to say ‘yes’,” Hank murmurs.

Connor lays a hand on Hank’s back and his heartrate spikes predictably. “Is that _your_ way of saying yes?”

This is skirting a line, Connor knows, maybe even crossing it. His ability to distinguish between platonic and romantic overtures is getting better by the day, but where he and Hank stand has always been nebulous. Living together and the assortment of casual touches they’ve allowed each other don’t seem too intimate for Hank, but they do draw comments from others. Namely, Reed, but he is not alone. Connor can only imagine what they would say to find them casually lying in bed together, Connor’s hand splayed between Hank’s shoulder blades. Connor is new to wanting, but he does want.

“Sure, Connor, knock yourself out,” Hank says, trying for casual, missing it by the flush of his cheeks and the slight tension in his shoulders.

Connor chases it away with his hand before rolling up onto his knees. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

Hank snorts. “What, do I need a safe word to get a back rub?”

“Would that make you feel better?” Connor says, pressing his thumbs up along Hank’s spine.

It steals Hank’s words for a moment, only allowing a low groan out of his mouth. “You’re getting to be awful cheeky these days.”

Connor just hums at that, doesn’t deign to respond as he shifts up to straddle Hank’s thighs, amused at the way he jerks in response. It doesn’t take focus to make his hands find the planes of muscles he wants to work, but he still feels like he ought to set some sort of autopilot. He keeps getting distracted by cataloging Hank’s reactions. At first, every little thing makes him shift and groan, but slowly he goes quiet as Connor massages the kinks out of his shoulders, the back of his neck. Eventually, his breathing evens out to something like sleep and Connor meditates on the seconds each breath lasts. Hanks breathing stumbles when Connor’s hands trail down to his lower back and Connor pauses.

“Alright, Hank?”

“Mm,” Hank answers eloquently. He’s running a few degrees warmer than normal, but nothing alarming. He stays lax and easy between Connor’s knees.

Encouraged, Connor digs his thumbs into Hank’s lower back, pressing down to the top of his hips, barely over his ass. Hank shifts again, first arching up into Connor’s hands, then rocking down into the sheets in a rather telling motion before he seems to realize what he’s doing. He freezes there and so does Connor, a thirium pump irregularity spawning an error message in the corner of his vision. He blinks it clear.

Connor rather enjoys Hank’s pleasure. It stands to reason that he would—and does—enjoy his arousal, too. He leaves his thumbs resting on the dimples of Hank’s back. “Hank…”

“Connor.” Hank’s voice comes out muffled and defensive.

Connor lets one hand trail back up to his shoulders before they can properly tense. “May I continue lower?”

Hank twists some to catch his gaze. “What do you mean ‘lower’?” he says slowly.

“I’m asking if I can touch you sexually, Hank,” Connor answers honestly, holding his gaze even as Hank’s eyebrows shoot up, heartrate steadily increasing. When the silence drags on, he offers, “Or just your thighs, if you’d prefer.”

“…I’m not sure I know how to reciprocate,” Hank replies eventually, like he’s honestly embarrassed to confess it.

It’s not a no in the slightest. Connor continues rubbing his lower back, finds himself in the rare situation of trying to calm himself down. He hopes he doesn’t sound too eager when he says, “The most recent sites you accessed on the matter are some of the more accurate and less… fetishistic.”

The tips of Hank’s ears burn bright red. “What did I tell you about looking at my browser history?”

“What did I tell you about deleting it?” Connor replies, feeling bold enough to drag his hands down Hank’s hips if not directly over his ass. It’s still enough to make him shift his legs restlessly. “I’ll need a direct answer to proceed.”

Hank scoffs, but it’s all nerves and does nothing to hide the want in his eyes. “Yeah, sure, Connor, _explicit yes,_ ” he says, then grumbles as he turns to lay his head back on the pillow.

Connor takes a moment to identify what he’s feeling. He determines it may be giddiness, or something akin to it. “May I undress you?” he asks, carefully digging his knuckles into the top of Hank’s ass, sweeping out and down as Hank squirms to follow the motion.

“You can do whatever you want,” Hank answers, then stills a little. “But _only_ that. _Oh._ ”

“Rest assured,” Connor says, fingers massaging the tops of Hank’s thighs under his boxers before sliding up to the waistband. “I very much enjoy this.”

Hank sounds a little choked when he replies, “Good to know.”

Shifting his hips up helpfully when Connor pulls at his boxers, Hank’s breath comes out unsteadily and Connor—Well, honestly, it’s not massaging when he gets two handfuls of Hank’s ass, it’s just greedy _touching_. Hank feels good under his palms and doesn’t seem to mind Connor basically fondling him even if he shakes all over when Connor pushes to expose his hole. He lets out a soft, high sound a human probably wouldn’t have even been able to pick up on when Connor runs a thumb down the greying hair in his crack. Hank’s hole flinches against his thumb and Connor feels a restlessness overtake both of them when he presses down just under it. “ _Fuck._ ”

The way Hank is laying leaves his dick pressed up under his body, unfortunately out of view and reach, but Connor does take the time to familiarize himself with Hank’s balls.

“…Are you analyzing my nuts right now?” Hank asks breathlessly and Connor pauses his analyzing.

“No.”

“That wasn’t even a convincing lie,” Hank chuckles.

“At least I didn’t use my mouth.”

“And you’re not fuckin’ gonna,” Hank snaps, though Connor is certain Hank has watched porn of that exact phenomenon. “The lube’s under the—” Connor doesn’t reach for it, casually spitting onto his own fingers. “Oh, for fuck’s…” He stops like he isn’t sure if he’s aroused or disgusted. His face takes a sharp turn for the former when Connor slides his now slick fingers back to Hank’s hole. “ _Oh._ ”

Connor feels like he might actually need to worry about the speed of his thirium pump when he slides a finger into Hank, slowly enveloped by slick warmth. “ _Oh_ ,” he parrots, suddenly, profoundly understanding the appeal.

Hank’s laugh is not unkind. “Do you even know what you’re doing back there?” he asks, only to swear under his breath when Connor calmly curls his finger down. Hank’s legs spread so he can shift up to his knees slightly and Connor raises with him to accommodate the space, letting him rock freely.

“I believe I’ve located your prostate.”

“Oh, you little smartass, you think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?” Hank blurts quickly, like he’s about to run out of air to say it.

It’s not exactly an intuitive motion for Connor; he was not designed for this, medically or pleasurably. But Hank is moving like he’s enjoying himself, rocking into the bed and back against Connor’s hand. “Is this good?”

“What do you think?”

“I _think_ I would like to hear your voice. You sound…” Connor spools for a moment, his off hand squeezing Hank’s ass. “I like the way your voice sounds when you are aroused.”

Hank spasms around him. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Like that,” Connor confirms. “I would also like to know what you like best.”

“I can take—” Hank pauses to turn his head around the other way, spare the strain on his neck. “Gimme another finger.” He shudders when Connor obliges, his middle finger sliding in easily. “Maybe another.”

“In a moment,” Connor says scissoring his fingers out, visually getting a flash of _inside_ and shaking his head to clear the error it spawns. He doubts Hank would appreciate a comment on the intimacy of being inside someone, but he feels awash with gratitude and maybe something bigger than that, too.

“You trying to be a tease?”

“Would you prefer that?” Connor says, fingers rubbing steadily inside, but away from where Hank obviously wants them. Just when Hank takes a breath to properly curse him out, Connor carefully drools on his hand and slides in a third finger. Hank’s voice cuts off on a drawn-out groan and Connor rocks his fingers steadily.

“Faster, Con— _fuck,_ ” Hank starts and Connor doesn’t make him repeat himself, quickens the pace of his fingers. “Yeah, baby, just like that.”

 _Baby,_ Connor thinks—hysterically? Everything in his head is a mess of too many things to analyze externally and too much to feel about what he’s analyzing. He’s pleased and amused and arousal is fairly new to him, personally, but that, too; _he wants_. Hank has broken out in a fine sheen of sweat, flush and damp all over as he shakes and grinds his arousal down into the sheets. Connor wants to taste him, is leaning down to do it before he even thinks about it. That might frighten him to think about later, but for now he’s licking at Hank’s skin, biting his ass as he continues fingering him.

Until then, Hank’s hands had been fisted up in the pillow by his head, but now one slides down to clutch at Connor’s hair. He’s gasping loud enough that if Connor didn’t know better, he’d be concerned. As it stands, he knows it’s pleasure and is awash with it, too, even more so when Hank’s hand flinches in his hair and he moans, “ _Connor…_ ”

Connor likes orgasms, he likes them a lot, especially what they do to Hank. The way his whole body snaps taut as he follows up Connor’s name with something loud and wordless, clenching tight around Connor’s fingers. Connor doesn’t stop moving until Hank’s hand slides out of his hair to paw for his hand. “Fuck, fuck, ‘s good, Con, stop.”

Even as Connor draws his fingers away, Hank leaves his hand curled loosely around Connor’s wrist, breathing heavily.

Connor displays Hank’s heartrate and watches it tick back down towards normal. He finds the process rather soothing. “That was…very satisfying to witness,” he says, when it’s closer to baseline, Hank’s breathing still heavy but not frantic. “Thank you.”

Hank huffs out a laugh. “‘ _Thank you’_ , this guy…” he mutters to himself before pushing up to roll and face Connor. “You don’t have to…” He stops, staring at Connor.

It takes Connor 2.3 seconds longer than it should to realize Hank is staring because is indicator is spinning yellow as he stares at Hank’s now exposed genitals, the evidence of his arousal and _completion_ still visible. Connor wants so badly to put his mouth there, wonders faintly if that would feel better than just using his hands, wonders how soon before Hank will be able to try again, if he’ll even want to. Hank twitches under the attention, seeming to catch the meaning of the look on Connor’s face. “I would like—”

“You know damn well I’m too old to go again right now,” Hank admits, more easily than Connor thought he might’ve been able to manage without being self-deprecating. It might have something to do with the oddly flattered look on his face.

“I can wait,” Connor assures him, overeager perhaps, but it makes Hank’s face twist like it’s somehow arousing and endearing. Connor likes these emotions on Hank’s face, no posturing to hide them in the wake of his orgasm. He’s flush down his neck as he sizes Connor up, absently licking his lips.

“Okay,” Hank says. “Still not clear on how to reciprocate, though.”

Connor doesn’t bother with the pretense of telling him he doesn’t have to. Hank knows that and Connor won’t deny how much he wants to be touched in return. It’s enough to make him nervous. “I enjoy you touching me and I enjoy it when you feel pleasure,” he says, then tilts his head. “However, if you’d like to make me _orgasm_ …”

“I would,” Hank agrees, sitting up further so he’s turned completely upright between Connor’s legs.

Connor doesn’t move away from him. “I don’t have genital components,” he warns.

Hank glances at his crotch, nods agreeably. “Okay,” he says, pulling until Connor is basically straddling his lap. The weight doesn’t seem to bother him much and Connor happily submits to Hank’s hands on his waist. “So what am I working with?”

“My mouth or the panel on my stomach,” he says, because apparently a fundamental facet of humanity is figuring out how to get yourself off. It had been a surprising day to say the least, but hey, it hadn’t left him prone to hedonism, so he can’t feel too bad about it.

“Your mouth?” Hank says, surprised. “You can come just from kissing?”

Connor lifts his chin, a little defiantly. “Presumably.”

“You never kissed anyone before?”

“I’ve never particularly wanted to,” Connor says, but before the alarm can even fully register on Hank’s face, Conner’s expression softens with adoration. He sounds sheepish when he says, “Who else would I have wanted to kiss, Hank?”

Hank swallows, visibly touched at the implication. “Dunno,” he says, rubbing a hand up Connor’s back. “That pretty chick that’s always with Android Jesus?”

“North is no fan of mine.”

“Yeah.” Hank motions at his face. “You’re an acquired taste.”

Connor looks at him flatly, the joke old and familiar. “I’m flattered you have acquired a taste for me then.”

“I never said that,” Hank says, but also leans up to press his lips against Connor’s.

It sparks a bit of panic in Connor, not for lack of want, but because there’s no protocol for this. He doesn’t have a pack stored away to tell him how to get this right. He wants to be good for Hank.

“Easy,” Hank grumbles softly against his lips, bringing a hand up to hold Connor’s cheek. “Follow me, I know where I’m going.”

Letting Hank lead, trusting him to know what he’s doing seems to be the best option. It hasn’t failed him so far and, now, seems to be working spectacularly. Connor is starting to feel like he’s glowing inside, something warm and bright growing in his chest as Hank’s tongue enters his mouth. He relaxes into it, holding onto Hank’s shoulder as they kiss. Connor is _kissing._ Yet another thing he now understands the downright _addictive_ appeal of. It doesn’t surprise him when Hank nudges a hand up under his shirt, but the sensation of his fingertips hesitantly pressing against his navel has him rising up, a startled and staticky noise jumping out of him. “ _Oh._ ”

“I thought that was just a stylistic thing,” Hank pulls back to say, running his finger around Connor’s belly button, watching with interest when it makes him sway into the motion.

“It’s synonymous to the areas on the human body with a lot of concentrated nerve endings,” Connor wheezes, which is an odd thing to do considering he has no breath to lose. He would normally explain the proximity to the components in his stomach, the thirium tubbing and motor controls housed there, but he is struggling to focus past the readouts scrolling behind his eyes almost too quickly to comprehend. His hand comes down tight on Hank’s wrist. “Touching it is…very stimulating. Especially with skin, apparently.”

“Skin? As opposed to?”

Connor briefly reveals the white plastic beneath his pseudoskin. “My hands aren’t conductive quite the same way a human’s— _ah!!_ ”

Hank stops teasing around the area, presses a finger into the depression. “Ain’t that something,” he mumbles, watching a moment longer before giving Connor a truly filthy kiss. And Connor keeps up at first, chasing the swelling of sensation Hank is giving him, but as he feels it cresting, he feels himself lock up. He clutches at Hank’s shoulder as the scrolling notifications take over his vision, mouth locked open as Hank sucks on his tongue and presses into his navel. For an exhilarating few seconds there is nothing but Hank and pleasure in a dizzying mix that leaves Connor blind to everything else.

It feels like clicking back online when Hank stops kissing him. “ _O-oh,_ ” his voice clips unnaturally, but Hank seems ecstatic, not put off.

“…Did you just lag on me there, Connor?” he asks brightly, shifting his hand so his thumb is resting in Connor’s navel.

Connor means to answer right away, but his system is embarrassingly sluggish to cooperate with him. “…Yes. …It seems—” he breaks off when Hank’s thumb twists. “ _You’ll make me orgasm again if you don’t remove your hand,_ ” he blurts out as fast as he can manage, considering the readouts have started scrolling again.

Hank just gazes at him, lazy and amused, doesn’t even feign at stopping his ministrations. “Is that a problem?”

Connor runs some quick calculations, responds a little slower than just before. “…If you give me—eeee… more than… f-six, you’ll o-o-overload my temperature regulator.”

“By my count that was only one,” Hank says, leans forward to tug at Connor’s lip with his teeth. “I like the way you sound when you’re aroused,” he repeats back to him, sounds _completely genuine_ for all his teasing.

“M-ay-maybe j-j-j-just five,” Connor says because he physically feels his own temperature increase at the words. He holds Hank’s wrist and rocks against his hand.

Hank grins at him wolfishly and Connor feels it spark down to his toes. “I’ll keep count.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading…i wish this for you: a nap of just the right length!


End file.
